


On a Raven's Glide

by Art3misiA



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Divergence, Fairest of the Rare's Sing Me a Rare 2020, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:33:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23541643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA
Summary: What if Neville decided he needed answers from the witch who tortured his parents? What would those exchanges look like, and how would it influence later events?Written for Sing-Me-A-Rare: Mash Ups - Winner in category: Best Thriller
Comments: 43
Kudos: 30
Collections: Sing Me a Rare: The Mash-Ups





	On a Raven's Glide

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sing-Me-A-Rare: Mash Ups. Much love to my Beta, Anne_Ammons! Thank you to Ravens Light for the manip! <3
> 
> Winner in category: Best Thriller 
> 
> **Song Prompts: **Come Join the Murder - THE WHITE BUFFALO**  
>  House of the Rising Sun - THE WHITE BUFFALO**
> 
> **  
> **Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is being made from this creation.**  
> **

_**September, 1994** _

"Here again, boy? You must be mad." The guard appraised Neville critically as he approached the entrance to Azkaban.

"If I keep coming, sooner or later l will get an answer," he replied, quiet but determined.

The guard shrugged. "On your head be it." He unlocked the heavy entrance doors and gestured the young wizard through. As Neville stepped into the gloom, an involuntary shiver passed through his body. The prison was cold, damp. It held the unmistakable air of helplessness, sapping the joy from anyone who entered its depths. Neville approached the reception desk and heard the same question, "here again?," before surrendering his wand and allowing yet another guard to bind his magic. Not that he could use wandless or non-verbal magic, but rules were rules.

Everyone at the prison looked at him as if he were mad. Asked him if he were mad. Probably thought he _was_ mad, despite his regular claims to the contrary. Given the reason for his visits though, perhaps he was. Perhaps he was.

The fate of his parents had plagued Neville throughout his childhood. After Sirus Black escaped the notorious wizarding prison, he was finally motivated to do something about his obsession. And so, he had been coming to Azkaban - with the help of Headmaster Dumbledore - once a month ever since.

He wanted to find out _why_ Bellatrix Lestrange, the witch who had tortured Frank and Alice Longbottom into insanity, had chosen the path that led her to her crimes and subsequent imprisonment. He would find out if it took him his whole life.

His grandmother, Augusta, would no doubt have Crups if she found out. She would ban him from ever setting foot in the prison again. The only person who knew was Professor Dumbledore, and he had promised never to breathe a word of his visits to anybody.

Once again, Neville was here to perform his monthly ritual. He had been visiting for several months now, and, as always, he tried to hold on to hope. Hope that she would not mock him. Hope that she wouldn't just laugh maniacally. Hope that she would give him the answers he was seeking.

Neville followed a guard through the labyrinthine prison as they slowly made their way to the topmost level where the most dangerous inmates were kept. The screams, howls, and mad laughter of the convicts followed him as he walked, dogging at his heels. In his head, Neville tried to rehearse what he would say, but it was hard for him to concentrate given the despair that closed in on him from all sides. Besides, words often left him when he was faced with the witch who had tortured his parents into madness.

They approached Bellatrix's cell. It was kept apart from the other prisoners on that floor but it was no larger or cleaner than any of the others surrounding it. There were bars on three sides and the cold stone of the building made up the fourth, allowing her no privacy. She looked up at the sound of their footsteps, grinning when she spotted Neville.

"Back again, boy? You must be—"

"—mad. Yeah, yeah. You're only the fourth person who's said that to me in the last half hour."

The guard conjured a small stool. Neville sat, never dropping his gaze from the curly haired witch across from him. She tilted her head at his answer, her eyes glinting.

"Was that a sarcastic remark? And no stuttering? Does this mean you've finally started to grow some hair on your bollocks, boy?"

Neville felt himself flush at her reference and hoped it didn't show too much. "My name's not 'boy'", he said quietly. "It's Neville. Or Longbottom, if you'd prefer." She had always called him 'boy', but never before had he called her out on it. Perhaps it was her previous question that had spurred him to correct her.

Bellatrix snorted. "Why would I bother with your name, _boy_?"

"It's polite to address someone by their name, Madam Lestrange."

She looked over Neville's shoulder at the watchful guard. "Listen to him! _Madam Lestrange!"_ The witch threw her head back and shrieked with laughter. "Polite? In _here?_ Morgana have mercy!"

"Politeness can be used anywhere," Neville replied, unfazed.

He was surprised and pleased with himself. She didn't intimidate him nearly as much as she had previously. It was true what she had said earlier — when he first started coming, he would stutter and stammer whenever he attempted to speak to her, quaking under the weight of her intense stare and her harsh words.

Now, however, he met her eyes without wavering, and his voice was steady and firm when he said, "Tell me why you tortured my parents."

Bellatrix looked at him for a moment, before answering, "You know why, boy."

"I know what your motivation was at the time," he replied. "What I want to know is _why._ Why did you do any of the things you did? Where was the sense in it all?"

Silence fell over them, Bellatrix's hard stare burning into him. Neville was determined not to break eye contact with her, knowing that if he did, she would perceive it as weakness and devolve into cruel taunts.

"Why?" he asked again.

"There was a black bird perched outside my window. I heard him calling, I heard him sing. He burned me with his eyes of gold to embers. He saw all my sins, he read my soul," Bellatrix replied cryptically.

"I don't understand," Neville frowned.

"Of course you don't, boy. But one day, that bird, he spoke to me," she answered.

Neville wanted to press her to expand on her strange words, but he was interrupted by the guard. "Time's up, Longbottom."

"Just one minute more," he pleaded.

"No. Time's up," the man repeated. "Let's go."

Neville sighed and got to his feet. The guard vanished the stool immediately and stepped forward to escort the younger wizard out.

"Bye bye, boy," Belltrix called mockingly.

"I'll be back next month," Neville replied as he was led away. His head was buzzing with what she had said. It didn't make sense. On the other hand, it was the most she'd ever said to him. He only hoped she would say more next time.

* * *

_**October 1994** _

Neville tolerated the usual comments, looks and tiresome procedures at the prison with barely concealed impatience, counting down the minutes until he could confront Bellatrix again.

When she saw him she called out, "How are your parents, boy? Still insane?" A cackle followed this jibe, and she danced around her small cell. Neville experienced a flare of anger he hadn't previously felt, although this wasn't the first time she had mocked his parent's condition. Setting himself on the stool the guard conjured, he got straight to the point.

"This bird. It was him. Voldemort," he stated.

Bellatrix regarded him haughtily. "You dare speak his name, boy? The name witches and wizards everywhere are afraid to speak out loud? He would kill you on the spot for such insolence."

Neville sat up straighter, his gaze hard. "Yeah, well, he's dead, isn't he? He can't do shite."

""He's _not_ dead!" the witch screeched, launching herself at the bars and wrapping her long fingers around the metal, her face contorted in anger. "He _lives!_ One day, he will return!"

"Doesn't look likely though, does it?" Neville taunted her. "You'd think if he was alive, he'd have turned up somewhere by now, what with his constant need for attention."

"I'll kill you, boy! How _dare_ you!" Bellatrix howled, her hair flying about wildly. Suddenly, she stilled and fixed her dark eyes on him. "No—no, I won't kill you. I'll _Crucio_ you instead. Curse you to within an inch of your life, until you don't even know your own name. You'll be reunited with your parents—but none of you will know the other! Oh, it's just too perfect! I'll—"

Her eyes abruptly widened as Neville leapt up from his stool and charged towards her cell. HIs anger had overflowed, red was pulsing in his vision. He didn't know what he was going to do to her, but he—

Suddenly, Neville found himself quite unable to move. His body went rigid and he fell to the stone floor with a thump, a result of the full body-bind cast on him by the guard. Bellatrix pointed and laughed, then clapped her hands.

"You really have grown some bollocks, boy! Not a scared little mouse anymore, are you? Your parents would be so proud!"

Neville mentally cursed himself as the guard levitated him away from the dark-haired witch. He had let her get to him, and now he would have to wait until next month. Her mocking laughter followed him as he was led down the hall.

* * *

_**January 1995** _

Unfortunately for Neville, due to his outburst he was denied entry to Azkaban the following month. The month after that, he was refused again. Only after he appealed to Dumbledore for help was he permitted to resume his visits, and so it was three months before he saw Bellatrix again.

Now, when he sat before her, she smirked. "Finally ready to face me again, boy?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry I was away so long," Neville responded. "I'd have come back sooner, but the guards thought I might be a threat to your safety after last time, and they've only just agreed to let me come back."

Bellatrix let loose with her trademark cackle. " _You?_ A threat to _me?"_ she hooted.

Neville allowed himself a small, sardonic smile. "Maybe I am."

She stopped laughing abruptly and scrutinised him. "Are you challenging me, boy?" she asked quietly, her voice low and dangerous.

"Bit hard to do that when you're in a cell and neither of us can use magic," Neville pointed out. "Although, even if I _did_ have access to my magic, I wouldn't attack someone who was trapped in a cell. It wouldn't be a fair fight."

The witch sneered at him, her face contorted in disgust. "Just when I started to think you were more than just another one of those do-good fools with _morals,_ you go and disappoint me."

"How will I cope, having disappointed the mighty and fearsome _Bellatrix Lestrange?"_ Neville replied, his voice thick with sarcasm. "That'll keep me up at night, guaranteed. I'll lie awake, wondering how I could have been so foolish as to consider it wrong to attack someone who can't fight back or protect themself?"

"Cheeky little shite, aren't you?" Bellatrix observed, a look of amusement on her features. Relaxed as she was, Neville could see a hint of the beauty she was rumoured to be when she was younger.

"Just don't tell Snape," he quipped. "He'd take fifty points from Gryffindor for insubordination."

"That greasy-haired twat." Bellatrix snorted. "Does he still use that big nose of his to look down at everyone?"

"Yes. As a matter of fact, he does." Neville paused. "Tell me what Voldemort said to convince you to join his ranks."

"Back to that again? Why do you want to know, boy?"

"I want to understand what drives someone to follow a madman," he answered without preamble.

Bellatrix bristled. "If you dared call the Dark Lord that to his face—"

"We've been over this, Madam Lestrange," Neville interrupted, impatiently. "He'd have killed me, blah blah blah. But he's not here. So just answer the question."

She levelled him with that unnerving gaze she used often, the one that made Neville feel like she was staring right into the depths of his very soul. Finally, she nodded once.

"The Dark Lord was never shy about expressing his true extent. His words when he was recruiting were always the same. ' _Come join the murder, come fly with black. I'll give you freedom from the Mudblood threat. Come join the murder, come fly with me. We shall be seen as Gods, they'll make us kings.'_ "

" _They'll make us kings?"_ Neville echoed, perplexed. "Did you really believe that?"

"Of course we did," Bellatrix replied. "No one except for Dumbledore could rival the Dark Lord. If it hadn't been for the Potter brat—"

"It could just as easily have been the Longbottom brat."

Bellatrix took a step back in surprise. "What do you mean, boy?"

"—time's up."

Neville didn't know whether to be frustrated or relieved at the guard's interruption. _Why_ had he said that to her? He considered trying to beg more time so he could get it over and done with, but decided against it. Dumbledore's assistance notwithstanding, he knew he was still on thin ice. Better not to test the guard's patience - at least, not yet. He allowed the guard to lead him from the room, feeling Bellatrix's eyes boring into his back with every step he took.

* * *

_**February 1995** _

"Tell me what you meant, boy. About how it could have been you."

When Neville arrived in the room that held Bellatrix's cell, the witch was standing at the bars, her curiosity clearly having won out over her determination to be aloof and contemptuously dismissive.

He had slipped up with his response the previous month - no one, not even Dumbledore, knew that Neville knew about the prophecy. His Gran had told him, right before he started at Hogwarts. " _Dumbledore thinks he is the only one on the side of the light who knows about Sybill Trelawney's prophecy. But I have informants of my own, and I knew about it almost before he did. Your parents and I went to great lengths to prepare, in case Voldemort should attempt to attack you, but he chose the Potter boy instead. Be kind to him, Neville. His life will not be easy, and he will need a friend. But you must not tell one else about the prophecy - not even Harry Potter."_ Oh, well. It was too late to backpedal now. In for a knut, in for a galleon.

"Didn't you know?" her asked. "My birthday is the day before Harry's - July thirtieth. My parents defied Voldemort three times. It could have been either of us."

"So?" Bellatrix frowned.

"It was purely by chance that Harry became the Boy Who Lived. Voldemort could have chosen me, instead, and then I would have that title."

"What makes you think you would have survived his killing curse?" Bellatrix sniffed.

"Because my parents would have made the same sacrifice that Harry's did, and the same magic would have protected me as it did him."

Bellatrix didn't answer, but she seemed to contemplate Neville's words, all the same.

"He's gone," Neville said. "He died and he's not coming back."

"I hear Potter survived the first task of the Triwizard Tournament," the dark-haired witch said abruptly, taking Neville by surprise.

"How did you know about that?" he asked suspiciously.

"I'm in prison, boy. Not dead," Bellatrix replied, looking at him as if he were a complete dullard. "I hear things."

Neville huffed. "Yes, he survived the first task. In fact, he won."

"How did he confound the goblet?" She demanded, suddenly fierce. "What trickery did he use? Was it dark magic?"

"He _didn't_ confound it, or do anything to it at all _._ No one knows what happened, not for sure, but the rumour is someone put his name in there with ill intent."

"Dumbledore," Bellatrix said immediately. "That sneaky old bastard did it."

"He would _never—!"_ Neville rose to his feet, scowing. "Albus Dumbledore is the g—"

"— _Greatest wizard that ever lived!"_ Bellatrix mocked in a high-pitched voice, her features twisted in a scornful expression. "Albus Dumbledore is a scheming, conniving, manipulative son of a bitch. He _always_ has an agenda."

"You _would_ say that, Death Eater bitch," Neville snarled.

Bellatrix, far from offended, threw back her head and laughed. "You know _nothing_ about Dumbledore, boy! He didn't earn the reputation for being the most powerful wizard after the Dark Lord by being a benevolent and kindly old school teacher."

Turning on his heel, Neville stormed over to the door, nodding brusquely at the guard as he opened the door to let him through. Bellatrix's laughter followed him, ringing in his ears as he fled the prison.

* * *

_**March 1995** _

This time, when he sat down, Neville got right to the point.

"Why did you join him?"

Bellatrix's lips quirked in a bitter smile. "I got married."

Neville frowned. "I don't understand."

"If I'd listened to my mother… well, I'd be home today."

"You talk in riddles far too often," Neville grumbled.

"My parents wanted me to marry my cousin Regulus," Bellatrix finally explained. "But Rudolphus was closer to the Dark Lord than Reg was. It was the Dark Lord who ordered that I marry into the Lestrange family."

"And what did your mother say?" Neville prompted, curious despite himself.

"She called me young and foolish, and cursed the wizard who led me astray." She shrugged, a small smile on her face.

"So you don't regret it? Your choice?"

"Don't be stupid, boy," Bellatrix said contemptuously. "Of course I don't."

"Why did you torture my parents?"

"This again? Merlin help me." She uttered an exaggerated sigh. "I suspected they knew where I could find the Dark Lord."

"But they didn't know. No one knew," Neville said quietly. "Well, except maybe for Dumbledore. You drove them to insanity for nothing."

"Collateral damage." She shrugged again. "It was a war, boy."

"A war that ended with you in prison."

"But at its height, I had _power_ , boy. On a blanket made of woven shadows, I flew up to heaven, on a raven's glide," Bellatrix replied. "These ones have turned my wings to wax, now," she indicated the guard.

"You turned your own wings to wax," Neville snorted.

"The Dark Lord _will_ return, and I'll soar again. I'll be rewarded." She grinned maniacally at him.

Shaking his head, Neville got up to leave. "I'm done with you," he said. "You're a waste of time. I won't come back again."

* * *

_**April 1995** _

Neville passed the gargoyles and rode the moving spiral staircase up to the Headmaster's office. Reaching the door, he knocked firmly.

"Come in, Mr Longbottom," came the call from within.

Turning the handle, Neville stepped into the room and crossed the open space to sit in the chair front of Dumbledore's desk.

"Lemon drop?" the elderly wizard offered.

"No, thank you, Sir."

Dumbledore smiled kindly. "What can I do for you today, Mr Longbottom?"

Neville took a deep breath. "I no longer wish to continue my monthly visits."

"I see." Dumbledore appraised him closely. The steady gaze of the man's piercing blue eyes made Neville feel uncomfortable, as if the Headmaster were staring into him and seeing his darkest thoughts.

"I've gotten all I'm going to get from Bellatrix," he continued. "She just speaks in nonsense riddles. Last month, she babbled about how Voldemort would return."

Dumbledore leaned forward, his gaze intense. "What did she say about his return, exactly?" He said roughly.

"N—nothing, Sir," Neville stammered. "She just said he would return and melt the wax."

"Hmmm. Neville, I'd like you to visit Madam Lestrange one more time," Dumbledore said.

"But I—"

"One more time, Neville," Dumbledore insisted.

He looked down, unable to hold the headmaster's eyes. He looked frenzied, and it was incredibly unnerving.

"Yes, sir," he agreed quietly.

* * *

_**May, 1995** _

"I thought you were never coming back, boy?"

Neville considered making up an excuse, then decided to tell the truth. "Professor Dumbledore asked me to come."

"Did he now?" Bellatrix purred. "And what did he hope I would tell you?"

"He wanted you to educate me about Voldemort," Neville said, repeating his headmaster's instructions. "To describe your experiences as one of his most loyal soldiers, and the things you saw or heard."

"Sending a boy to do a man's work?" she replied, mockingly. "Is that interfering old fool afraid of me, now?" She cackled, amused.

"Tell me about Voldemort," Neville said.

Bellatrix eyed him for a few moments, as if weighing up her options. Talk, or stay silent? Finally, she spoke.

"My Lord, he is a rambler. He rides the wind and air. The only time he's satisfied is when he's spreading fear."

"Or torturing or killing people, the sadistic bastard," Neville added.

"He fills his wand up with dark spells, destroys a village or town. The only pleasure he gets out of life is taking his enemies down," Bellatrix nodded in agreement.

"I'm glad he's dead," Neville said angrily, getting to his feet. "And I'm glad you're stuck here. You're a danger to yourself and everyone else, you mad bint." He walked out without saying goodbye. To hell with what professor Dumbledore wanted - there was no point keeping up this charade any longer. He had as much chance of getting anything useful out of her as he did becoming an all-star Quidditch player.

* * *

_**June, 1996** _

Neville ducked as spellfire flew over his head. _What the bloody hell am I doing, going up against Death Eaters?_ He screamed inwardly. They were back in the Death Chamber, with its creepy archway, battling Voldemort's followers. Their enemies were strong, and Neville feared he and his friends might not survive the skirmish.

"I see you, boy!" Bellatrix cried. "I told you the Dark Lord would return! He's coming back to the Ministry to burn Potter at the stake!"

Before Neville could reply, he was hit by a spell that caused his legs to spasm wildly. Suddenly, Harry was there, pulling him away, only to be blocked by Lucius Malfoy. The bespectacled boy passed him the Prophecy, and he placed it into his pocket as they tried to flee, only to feel it slip from its tenuous place. Desperately, as if in slow motion, Neville reached for the glowing orb, and watched in horror as it slipped through his fingers to smash on the stone floor.

Bellatrix's scream of rage as the wraith escaped, taking the Prophecy with it, chilled his soul.

* * *

_**May, 1998** _

_Chaos. Screaming. Exploding masonry. Bodies, both friend and foe, falling. The sky lit up with spellfire._

Neville kept moving. Firing spells, ducking, casting shield charms. Trying desperately to stay alive, and to keep his friends alive.

_Kill the snake. Kill the snake._

The last instruction Harry had given him beat a staccato in his head, in tune with his rapid heartbeat. He had no idea how he could hope to accomplish this task, but he would do his best to not let Harry, or his friends and the wizarding world, down.

They were in the courtyard, a teeming mass of bodies standing on either side of the wide open space. Suddenly, Voldemort was there, his foul serpent alongside him, and — _please, Godric, no —_ Hagrid, broken and sobbing, holding the lifeless body of Harry in his arms. At Voldemort's side stood Bellatrix, positively revelling in the mass outpouring of grief as everyone fighting realised what had befallen the Boy Who Lived. This wasn't supposed to happen.

" _...he was killed while trying to sneak out of the castle grounds…"_ The evil man was lying, of _course_ he was lying, Harry would never abandon the fight or his friends. Voldemort paced back and forth in front of Harry's still form, now lying in the grass at his feet, as he gleefully shouted his triumph.

Neville felt a rage he had never known before grow inside him. Charging forward, with no regard for his own life, he swung his wand at Voldemort, but was immediately disarmed and thrown on the ground.

" _Who is this?"_ Voldemort was asking. " _Who has volunteered to demonstrate what happens to those who continue to fight when the battle is lost?"_

 _"It is Neville Longbottom, my Lord! The one who came to visit me in Azkaban, the one who gave the Carrows so much trouble, the son of the Aurors!"_ Bellatrix answered.

Neville struggled to his feet. If he was going to die, he would do it standing. Now Voldemort was talking about his pureblood heritage, asking him to join the Death Eaters. It was laughable. Did the deranged man _really_ think he would ever join his ranks?

"When hell freezes over!" he shouted. "Dumbledore's army!" Neville thrust his fist in the air in defiance, and was heartened as his friends cheered behind him in what he was sure were his final moments.

" _Very well… if that is your choice, Longbottom, we revert to the original plan. On your own head be it."_ Voldemort waved his wand. Neville prepared himself for the curse that was sure to come. But instead, there was a pause, and then the madman was holding what looked like the Sorting Hat in his pale hand while he ranted about the end of sorting, the end of houses, and how Slytherin would be the only house going forward.

Neville was restrained in a body-bind, the hat shoved forcefully onto his head. Voldemort was saying how Neville would be an example of what would happen when someone opposed him, and suddenly, the hat was on fire. Neville began to panic as he felt heat from the flames as they spread, his body still frozen. He prepared himself for the pain that would come at any moment… but the pain did not come.

There was something hard, something heavy, pressing into his head. And all at once, Neville was free of the bind. He whipped the hat off and reached into it, dimly recognising the chaos had resumed all around him. The battle had erupted once again—were those the _centaurs?_ He took hold of the thing that had been pressing against his head and gasped in amazement. _The Sword of Gryffindor!_ He grasped it firmly in his hand. It seemed to sing as it thrummed under his hand, its power calling to him.

_Kill the snake._

Harry's last request. Harry, who was—gone! The space where his body had lain was empty. No one else, it seemed, had noticed yet.

Fortified, courage flowing through him, Neville hefted the sword. Voldemort was distracted, and Nagini was _right there._

Two steps forward.

_Kill the snake._

The sword's blade arched above his head, glittering. It swung down with a whistle as it cut the air before it.

_Kill the snake._

Gryffindor's sword sliced cleanly, separating Nagini's head from her body. Voldemort screamed in fury, and turned his wand on Neville. Now would come the spell that would end his life, speeding towards him, about to strike—but a shield appeared before Voldemort's spell could reach him. And then Grawp was there, and the giants were charging. Bedlam ensued as Death Eaters and allies alike scattered. Neville turned and ran too, sword still in hand, determined to continue the fight, retrieving his wand as he headed for the Great Hall.

Inside, other battles were in progress. Together with Ron, he defeated Fenrir Greyback, and felt a surge of satisfaction as the violent, vicious werewolf fell. All around Neville, allies from everywhere in wizarding Britain, wizards and magical creatures alike, fought side by side. Even the house elves were there, attacking the shins of the Death Eaters with sharp kitchen items, their tiny voices raised in war cries.

He saw Voldemort duelling Shacklebolt, McGonagall and Slughorn at the same time; and there was Bellatrix, wildly waving her wand and laughing maniacally as she battled Ginny, Luna, and Hermione. The younger witches were fighting, but the deranged Death Eater was far stronger. She fired a curse that whizzed by Ginny, missing her by inches. Moments later, Molly Weasley was there, a charging, dangerous, vengeful whirl of robes and red hair, screaming, " _Not my daughter, you bitch!"_

She raised her wand and the battle between the two women began.

Gradually, the small skirmishes around the Great Hall slowed as the tide began to turn, only the Dark Lord's most loyal supporters remained to continue the fight. Those not fighting retreated along the walls to watch, as the most powerful Dark wizard in existence and his most loyal and powerful follower traded curses and hexes with their opponents.

" _What will happen to your children when I've killed you?"_ Bellatrix jeered at Molly.

But soon, her arrogance turned to consternation as one of Molly's spells found its mark. With an expression of shock, the formidable Bellatrix Lestrange fell to the ground. Voldemort's howl of rage echoed around the room, and he turned, wand raised, to attack Molly.

A shield charm appeared, protecting Molly from Voldemort's attack, and without warning, seemingly out of nowhere, Harry was there. _Had he returned from the dead? Was he a ghost?_ But no, he was very much alive, and incensed, ready to take on the fight, and ordering everyone to stay back. The disbelief and amazement that filled the room at his emergence was palpable.

" _It has to be me,"_ Harry was saying. " _Neither can live while the other survives."_ Now Harry was challenging Voldemort openly, taunting him, as everyone watched with rapt attention. The only sound was their voices—no. There was another voice, somewhere behind him.

" _Boy_ …"

It was very faint. Neville frowned. He must be hearing things, surely. But there it was again.

" _Boy…"_

Turning, Neville saw movement where Bellatrix had fallen. Cautiously, holding his wand aloft, he crept forward.

She was dying. Still holding on, but dying all the same. He moved closer, and crouched next to her.

"So much for your Dark Lord," Neville said, his voice hard. "Look where it got you. Hated. Dying. No one will mourn you. How does it feel?"

"Now I curse that raven's fire. He made me hate, he made me burn." She coughed weakly, blood bubbling around her lips.

"You always knew. You never learn," Neville replied. "You could have redeemed yourself at any time, and yet you didn't."

"It doesn't work like that, boy. Surely you know that," Bellatrix whispered. "Had I made different choices, he would have killed me."

"And yet, you still end up greeting death."

"Indeed I do. This is the end of my life. At least can I watch the rising sun once more." Bellatrix nodded slowly at the dawn peeking through the shattered windows and crumbled walls. She closed her eyes for a moment, her breathing growing shallow.

"Longbottom—will you grant me one request, at the moment of my demise?"

Neville thought about saying no. Why should he agree to grant this woman anything? She had made his parents suffer. She had killed friends and people he knew. She was evil incarnate. She certainly did not deserve his compassion.

But, he was a Gryffindor. He was better than her. And after all these years, she had finally called him by his name.

"What is it?" He would decide for himself whether he would do it, but she didn't need to know.

"Go tell my baby daughter not to do what I have done. To shun dark magic in all its forms, lest she come undone."

Neville gaped in shock.

"You—you have a daughter?" he whispered. "Is her father—?" His eyes cut towards the middle of the room, just in time to see Harry and Voldemort simultaneously cast spells. The jets of light connected and there was an explosion of blinding sparks. Voldemort was flying backwards with a scream, crumpling, his body shrinking within his robes. The dark wizard, it seemed, was really and truly dead.

Neville turned back to the witch lying on the ground before him. Bellatrix's eyes closed again, and a tear rolled down her cheek. "The Dark Lord, yes. He is her sire. She was born in secret at Malfoy Manor. And now she will be orphaned. Perhaps it is for the best."

The stab of sympathy he felt seemed alien, given the child's parentage. But perhaps now, if the right person took care of her, taught her better than she would have been taught by either of her parents, she could break free from the legacy that would surely follow her.

He made his decision. Swallowing, Neville said, "Where can I find her?"

"My daughter is in Lestrange Manor. Now that the Dark Lord is gone, Rodolphus will end up caught and sent to Azkaban, if he's not killed first. She is safe, for now. I have already instructed the house elves to admit you."

Neville stared in shock. "I don't understand—why would you do such a thing?"

"You are such a disgustingly good little Gryffindor. So compassionate, so sure of what is right and wrong. You were the ideal choice to protect her, in the event that her father or I could not. I told no one but the elves."

"But—I could have easily died today. What would you have done, then?"

Bellatrix laughed softly. "You, Longbottom? Die? Don't be a fool. You were one of the few almost guaranteed to come out of this alive."

Neville was discomfited by her change in attitude. She had gone from vicious, unyielding and cruel to—whatever this was. Perhaps, in the face of death, even the most inhuman of people could be capable of reflection and regret. Perhaps this was her moment of reconciliation.

"I will ensure your daughter is protected and give her a chance at a normal life. I can promise you that, at least."

"Poor child. I loathe to think what house she will be sorted into," the witch sighed, her breaths slowing. "Thank you, Longbottom."

"What is her name?" he asked.

" _Delphini."_ The word issued from Bellatrix's lips as a mere whisper, as the last of her tortured life slipped away.


End file.
